


Thou Shalt Not

by EnderBerlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnderBerlyn/pseuds/EnderBerlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenagers are turning up dead in Washington. Sam and Dean investigate, much to their chagrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Shalt Not

“Hey, get this,” Sam said over his shoulder as he tabbed between the open pages on his laptop. “Couple of dead bodies over in Riverbend, Washington two nights ago. A girl fell out her window and her boyfriend was found hung and impaled.”

“Sure she fell, Sammy? Good ‘ole murder-suicide isn’t really our thing."

“She was eaten by dogs. Well, everything except her head, hands, and feet at least.” 

“Bummer,” Dean grunted.

“She didn’t own any dogs.” 

“Still doesn’t sound like our kind of thing,” Dean mumbled through a handful of garlic fries. 

“Guy was found hanging by his hair, three spears sticking out of his chest…”

“And?”

“And that doesn’t sound at all familiar to you?” 

“Sounds like he pissed her off.”

“Jezebel, Dean. Absalom?”

“Absa-who?” 

Sam rolled his eyes as he finally looked up from the computer and turned toward Dean, Bitchface #7 (I think You’re an Idiot and Shouldn’t Have to Talk to You like You’re Five) firmly in place. _Goody_ , Dean thought, and smiled around a too large bite of ground beef, careful to open his mouth just a little bit wider as he chewed. Sam was so easy sometimes.

Sam’s lip twitched in a mostly concealed grimace of disgust before he elaborated. “They’re from the Bible, Dean. Queen Jezebel was pushed from her window and eaten by dogs… except for some choice pieces at least. Absalom got his hair caught in a tree while fleeing battle. His father’s military commander found him and shoved three spears into his heart while he was still alive. Afterward, as if the spears weren’t enough, ten of the commander’s men stabbed him. That’s a hell of a coincidence, Dean. How does that not sound like us?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

*** 

Dean flopped back on the scratchy bedspread and was halfway to comfortable when Sam kicked the bed and cocked an eyebrow at him. “C’mon, man… we still have enough time to talk to the girl’s family before it gets dark.” It was going to be a long day.

At least he never had to deal with traffic in no-name towns like this. Sam barely had time to start bitching at him about the volume before they were parked in front of the girl’s house.

As far as interviews with grieving families went, this one was actually quite pleasant. It didn’t take much more than a few minutes to learn that Janie and her boyfriend, Clinton, had gone hiking with a couple friends the day before she died. A few more well-placed questions, some puppy eyes from Sam, and they were off to talk to one of the hiking buddies before it got too late. They would hit up the last kid first thing in the morning.

“What’s his name again? Ichabod?” Dean asked as they pulled up in front of a pale yellow house with white trim and quaint little rose bushes surrounding a wrap-around porch. 

Hmmm… Bitchface #9 (I Know You’re Screwing with Me, Dean, and I’m Not Playing with You).

“Isaiah,” Sam corrected. The kid just couldn’t help himself. 

“So do we shoot him now or wait until dark?” 

Confusion wiped the constipated look off Sam’s giant face and Dean had to work to keep his expression neutral. “What?” Sam squawked. “We aren’t shooting him, Dean. We’re asking him questions. You can’t just go around shooting people –”

“Dude, Bible deaths. Bible name. Alone time in the woods. Case closed.”

Sam did a pretty spot on fish impression for a few seconds before he recovered enough to shoot Dean down. _Figures_.

Turns out that Sam was probably right about Isaiah not killing Janie and Clinton, but Dean was still firmly on the ‘shoot him now’ side of the fence. That guy was a giant bag of dicks. And why did people always assume he and Sam had big, gay hard-ons for each other?

“Wow,” Sam said once they were back in the car.

“I didn’t know people like that were still allowed this far west of the Bible Belt.”

“Wow,” Sam repeated, shaking his head as Dean pulled away and turned the Impala back toward their motel.

***

The coroner was nice, but a little off. At least he was eager to help Sam and Dean with their investigation. It didn’t take much effort to get him to leave them alone with the latest corpse, either.

Dean mourned the lost opportunity of a game of Jenga with the quirky coroner (okay, he was a lot off) the moment Sam pulled back the crisp sheet draping the body. That shit was seriously nasty. 

“So, uh… worms?”

“Worms.” At least Sam had the decency to look a little green at the gristly sight before them, but honestly… who gets eaten to death by worms? It wasn’t something you heard about that often. “Just like Herod Agrippa.”

“Sammy, you’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?”

“Talking to me like I’m supposed to understand what you’re saying.”

Bitchface #29 (It Wouldn’t Hurt You to Pick Up a Book on Occasion). _Awesome_.

“It’s another biblical death, Dean. King Herod. According to the lore he was struck down by an angel and eaten to death by worms.”

“So we’ve got a bunch of kids dropping dead of the Bible’s greatest hits. Why?”

“Maybe we should ask Daryl Mueller.”

***

Daryl Mueller had quite a lot to say.

Dean cocked a brow at Sam halfway through Daryl’s tale of Janie’s latest seduction attempt. _Do you believe this kid?_ To hear him tell it, Janie was pretty much panting for it. Good thing he was such a stand-up guy and took the whole ‘bros before hoes’ rule to heart. 

Sam shrugged imperceptibly and asked if Janie and Clinton were having any problems.

“Naw, man… it wasn’t like that. Janie got around and all but Clint didn’t really mind it. He could’ve had anyone he wanted. Mostly he kept her around because she pissed Daddy off. They had plans to get together this weekend. They were going to skip church Sunday and binge on Game of Thrones. Pastor M. would have blown a gasket. They had a good laugh up on the ridge about the look on his face when Clint wasn’t in his seat come Sunday morning.” 

“Pastor M.?”

“Yeah, Clint’s dad. He’s pretty uptight about Clint not following in his footsteps…” 

Dean sat back and let Sam question Daryl about the hike, only perking up when he mentioned finding some weird rocks. “What kind of weird rocks?” Dean asked, sitting up a little straighter on the couch.

“I dunno man… like big stone tablets with squiggly scratches on them.”

“Squiggly scratches?” Sam pressed.

“Yeah, squiggly. Like some sort of language. I hadn’t seen it before. We tried to carry them down with us but they were just too heavy. Couldn’t even make them budge with all of us pushing on ‘em.”

“Where?” Dean demanded.

***

Dean had laughed at the ridiculous pants Sam had insisted on purchasing along with the rest of their gear, but now he was kind of wishing he had let his brother bully him into buying a pair of his own. It had been a long time since Blackwater Ridge and he had forgotten how uncomfortable hiking in jeans really was. Shit was starting to chafe. “How much farther?"

Sam stopped a little way ahead of Dean and checked the location on their GPS against the map Daryl had given them. “About four more miles. It looks like the last two are the hardest,” he replied.

Dean’s jaw ticked with the mental math. They weren’t even half way there yet and he could already feel the angry bloom of a rash on his inner thighs. He pushed the discomfort from his mind and trudged along after his brother.

God, this was torture. Why on Earth did people do this of their own free will? His lungs were on fire, cramps were playing tag along his ribs, and that didn’t even begin to describe the situation that was going on in his pants. “How much further?” Dean asked, going for casual and cringing at the whine he heard in his voice.

Bitchface #2 (Seriously, Dean?) morphed into a lopsided smirk at Dean’s duck walk before splitting into a sunny grin when Dean came to a stop, shifting uncomfortably and palming his crotch through the sweaty denim.

“Don’t say it, Sam,” he growled.

“Say what?” Sam asked, giving Dean the sweetest smile in his arsenal before digging into his backpack. Dean continued to stare him down until he emerged with a motel washcloth in one hand and a wad of fabric in the other. At his questioning look, his brother explained himself. “Take your pants off.”

Okay, so maybe “explained” was a bit of a stretch. What the hell was wrong with this kid? 

“Dean, seriously. Take off your pants. The chafing is just going to get worse unless you do something about it.”

Dean grumbled a bit but toed off his boots and started unbuttoning his pants. When he had them down to his knees Sam decided to make the whole situation even better by demanding he lose his briefs as well. _Dick_.

“Christ, Dean, you’re worse than a toddler,” Sam grumbled and Dean threw his sweaty underwear at his big, stupid face. The bastard caught them easily and tossed the filched hand towel and a small jar of – fuck, petroleum jelly – to him in return. “Dude, just wash the sweat off and put some petroleum on it when it’s dry.” 

Dean mumbled insults under his breath but he grudgingly complied. He was never going to hear the end of this. When he finished with the petroleum jelly Sam passed him some fresh boxer briefs and a pair of sleep pants.

“Next time listen to me when I tell you to buy some goddamn pants. It’s not like I enjoy sitting around and watching you lube up your junk,” Sam griped as he packed up his bag.

_Huh_ , Dean thought. Where was Bitchface #12 (Life Would Be So Much Easier If You Just Listened to Me)? Sammy was off his game. 

His sigh of relief was audible as they resumed their hike and Dean discovered his crotch was mostly discomfort free. He could totally do this.

“So, do you think these are the actual tablets God wrote the Ten Commandments on?” Dean asked once they were on their way again.

“It can’t be the original – the lore claims Moses broke those tablets – but it might be the second set he made. I mean, it makes sense: stone tablets on a mountain with some funny handwriting and a bunch of biblical deaths...”

“Yeah, maybe we should call Cas. Have him get his feathery ass down here and collect his trinkets. Save us the nature walk.”

“Let’s just find them first, Dean. We aren’t even sure this is really the Decalogue.”

“Whatever, Pocahontas. Lead the way.” Dean couldn’t see to be certain, but he was pretty sure those shoulders meant Sammy was rocking Bitchface #33 (I’m Pissed At You and It’s Even Worse Because I Don’t Have a Good Comeback). 

Dean wasn’t quite sure how long it took to climb their way to the remote spot Daryl had marked on the map, but it was already getting late and he was glad Sam had insisted on securing a tent and a couple of cheap sleeping bags. He just hoped they could find those stupid rocks before they lost the light. 

Apparently Sam had been at least half listening to Daryl’s endless prattle. He seemed to follow some sort of mysterious landmarks more or less directly to the tablets. Thank God for small favors. Maybe they would be able to make their way to the small clearing they had passed a little while ago and set up camp before dark. He could use some good shut-eye after the hellish trek, even if he wasn’t too keen on spending the night in a tent. 

Sam traced his hand over the face of the tablets, a look of wonder on his face. “Dean. I think this is the real thing. Maybe you should call Cas after all.” 

“What makes you so sure now?” 

“Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?” 

“The power. It’s like they’re humming. Also, they’re written in Hebrew. I’m not very good, but I recognize a few words. I’m pretty sure those are Commandments.” Sam continued to trace his fingers over the stone as he studied it and struggled to dislodge them from their perch even though Daryl had said it was futile. 

Dean left Sam to his nerdgasm and wandered off to call Cas. When the angel didn’t show up with the usual jump scare Dean tried calling from his phone instead. Of course there’s no service up here, he thought as he slowly worked his way back to Sam. It was definitely time for more of that petroleum jelly. 

*** 

It was a lot easier to pry Sam from his precious stones than he thought it would be and bright reds and yellows had just started to blaze across the sky by the time they finished setting up the day-glow orange tent. 

“Hey, Sammy, toss me some more of that stuff,” Dean shouted from across the clearing as he shoved his sleep pants and boxer briefs down to his knees and perched on a nearby rock. He was so thoroughly absorbed in trying to get a good look at the back of his thigh that it took him a while to notice Sam wasn’t paying attention to him. 

Strike that. Sam was just sitting there gaping at him like a slack-jawed idiot. _Perfect_. “Sam! The stuff!” Dean barked and held out one hand while the other continued to poke at the tender flesh of his groin. 

Sam shook himself like a big, stupid dog and dug in his bag for the jar of petroleum jelly and a fresh washcloth. He tossed them over, sat back on his haunches, and promptly resumed staring. Dean was starting to get a little self-conscious. Surely it couldn’t look that bad… He tried craning his neck again for a better view as he cleaned the irritated skin. Try as he might, he couldn’t see what was putting that dumbfounded look on his brother’s face. 

When Dean groaned in relief as he started massaging petroleum jelly into his scrotum, Sam bolted into the wind-twisted trees at the edge of the campsite. He pulled his balls up and tried to look behind them, but he was kind of grateful he couldn’t see whatever horror show had Sam running for the hills.

Sam was still gone when Dean finished taking care of business so he started rummaging through their bags for something he could turn into dinner. At least he had remembered to bring more than peanut M&Ms this time, even if it was just smashed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and power bars. God, he would kill for a cheeseburger.

*** 

He was still sitting alone by their tent after he had eaten two sandwiches and the Snickers he had found hidden in the bottom of Sam’s bag. He would have stolen Sam’s apple too, but he wasn’t quite that desperate yet and, besides, he was starting to worry about where his brother had disappeared to.

It didn’t take him more than a few minutes of following the broken path through the stunted trees before he heard his brother moaning up ahead. _Shit_. His heart rate jumped and his gait lengthened as he made his way toward the distressed groans, calling Sam’s name. 

“Dean?” He heard the shaky cry through the dense vegetation. _Sammy_. He crashed through the rest of the greenery keeping him from his brother and stumbled to a halt.

Oh. My. God. 

_My eyes!_

“What the fuck?!” Dean shrieked at the sight of Sam clutching a log, pants around his ankles, and a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face.

“Did you seriously just shit yourself?”

“Dean.” Sam whined and shot some weird combination of Bitchface numbers 1 and 14 (Fuck Off, Dean meets Why Aren’t You Helping Me, Dean?). It wasn’t a good look on him. It was an even worse smell.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dean asked again.

“I don’t know. I was fine and then I felt sick. Now I’m all crampy.” God, he sounded just like he was four years old again and Dean had stolen his favorite toy.

Frankly, he was pretty grossed out by the whole thing. He hadn’t had to deal with even half that much shit since the whole shifter baby debacle. Or was it that wish-sandwich gone bad catastrophe? He couldn’t remember, but either way he was less than thrilled. Still, his baby brother was looking up at him with those giant liquid brown eyes ( _how does he make them so big?_ ) and he was helpless to deny him.

“Jesus, just… stay there. I’ll go get a towel or something.”

Unfortunately, the best Dean could come up with were the two petroleum smeared hand towels he had used to clean up with. He doubted the couple of napkins he found shoved in Sam’s bag were going to help matters much. He grabbed a liter of water, Sam’s sleep pants, and their last pair of underwear before heading back into the brush.

Dean was pretty sure he would be scarred for life by the time they had Sam mostly clean. This was so much worse than when he was a baby.

“Let’s never talk about that again,” Dean said as he led Sam back to the tent. “And try not to touch anything either.”

Sam just followed him with his head hung low, teeth clenched and the skin around his taut lips turning a pale white. Dean probably wasn’t the only one that wanted to forget this ever happened. He took pity on the giant baby and didn’t comment on the horrible stench that sometimes drifted to him on the wind. It made Sam after beans smell like one of those plug-in air fresheners.

Once, he tried to feed Sam a power bar. That wasn’t a mistake he was likely to make again. It also happens that he was right about those napkins not really helping. He was actually starting to feel bad for Sam, at least until he tried to get in the tent with him.

Dean made it all of ten minutes before he grabbed his sleeping bag and hauled it through the tiny entryway and out under the stars. Whatever that tent was made of was not breathable _at all_ , and there was no way he was going to be able to sleep while his brother hot-boxed the hateful thing. He seriously hoped Sam was better in the morning.

*** 

Sam was not better in the morning. 

If anything, he was worse. The cramping was apparently much more acute and Sam had trouble just standing up straight, let alone hiking down the trail. It was almost dark again by the time they made it back to the Impala and they were down to a single set of boxer briefs and sleep pants between them. Dean’s duck walk was back with a vengeance and he was definitely going to make Sam pay for this just as soon as he stopped shitting all over everything. And where the hell was Castiel? 

So far Cas had been ignoring his prayers, but at least he had cell reception now. He left a long, angry message while Sam locked himself in the port-a-john at the head of the trail. Dean had never been so happy to see civilization in his life and he was starting to feel a little better about everything by the time he had Sam stashed in the back seat, curled up on his side.

They only had to stop twice on the drive back to the motel and by the time Sam stumbled through the peeling motel door, Cas was stiffly sitting on a bed waiting for them.

“What the fuck took you so long, Cas?” Dean demanded as he pushed Sam toward the bathroom.

“Hello, Dean. Sam.”

“Seriously? Hello?” Dean gawked at his friend as he heard the bath start running.

“I was not able to locate the source of your prayers. Something here is blocking my powers. I came as soon as I got your message.”

Dean deflated a little and asked him to take a look at Sam. It didn’t take as much convincing as it should have to get him into the bathroom with his naked brother. For once, he was grateful for the angel’s boundary issues.

The anxiety that had plagued Dean on their trip down the mountain ramped up into panic at the look on Castiel’s face as pulled his fingers from Sam’s forehead and slowly rose from his crouch by the bath tub. “I cannot heal him,” he said with what Dean supposed was a relatively convincing display of sorrow.

“He touched some sort of rock thing. We think it might be the tablets Moses wrote the Ten Commandments on,” Dean babbled. Who knew what sort of information might help his brother at this point.

“The Ten Commandments? Well, it’s more than ten, really, and God wrote them. Moses just –“

“Cas.” Dean shouted as Sam chose that moment to try and launch himself out of the bathtub. Dean instinctively reached under his arm and helped him to the toilet as he glared at the angel. “Not important. We were working this case and a bunch of kids started dying weird Bible deaths after they found those rocks…”

“I see. That makes sense,” Cas said as he turned an appraising eye on Sam. Dean almost laughed out loud at the look on Sam’s face. It seemed the kid was going to die of embarrassment right there, naked on the toilet.

“Could you guys just take it outside?” Sam begged.

Castiel turned his attention back to Dean as though Sam didn’t exist and picked up where he left off. “Just as with the children, Sam was affected by the tablets. I cannot undo my Father’s punishment and heal Sam so long as the source of retribution remains on Earth.” 

“So the tablets did kill those kids?” 

“Uh, guys?” Sam interrupted, only to be ignored completely. 

“Well, they were punished for their sins, but yes. I suppose you could phrase it in such a manner.”

“Dean! Towel!” Sam yelled from his corner on the toilet.

“Fuck, Sam!” Dean shouted back and whipped a towel at his head. “We’ve all seen it and we’re all impressed, Christ!”

Dean blanched as he realized what he had just said. “Shit. Am I going to get eaten by dogs or something now?” he asked Cas.

“What? Why would you be eaten by dogs?” Cas asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

“Because the tablets. The whole wrath of God thing…” Dean explained. When Cas continued to stare at him with his head cocked to the side like the big, dumb baby in a trench coat that he was, he spelled it out. “I just took the Lord’s name in vain. So know I get a big cosmic bitch slap, yes?

“You didn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Dean.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that’s actually a common misconception,” Sam chimed in as he herded them toward the bathroom door, towel slung low around his waist. Dean was so confused. Sam soldiered on though, just as oblivious as he usually was when stating some obscure fact. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain is less what you say than who you say it for.”

“That is correct, Sam.”

“Wait, so that’s why Isaiah was eaten by worms like Herod Agrippa? He told us how God hated fags like us and that He would send us all to hell,” Sam exclaimed before he turned suddenly and rushed back into the bathroom.

Dean sneered as he remembered just how big a tool Isaiah had been. He couldn’t truthfully claim to feel bad about him dying, as much as the whole worm thing had to have sucked. At least he wasn’t going to go out the same way. “Okay, that explains Janie and the dog too,” he said as everything clicked into place. “She was slutting around town and tempting the boys away from God. She was a modern day golden calf.”

“Exactly,” Castiel agreed.

“Yes,” Sam called from the bathroom. He leaned forward from his perch on the toilet so he could see them through the open door. “And Clinton didn’t honor his father so he was killed like Absalom, arguably the crappiest son in the bible.”

“Okay, but why didn’t they kill me or Sam?” Dean asked Castiel.

“You must touch the tablets and then commit an offence in order to be punished, Dean,” the angel started to explain before he was interrupted.

“Okay, I didn’t touch the tablets –“

“– and I didn’t do anything!” Sam called.

“And Sam _is_ being punished,” Castiel finished.

“How? For what?” Dean asked at the same time Sam reasserted his claim that he did nothing wrong. 

Castiel turned to him with a raised eyebrow, an oddly human expression on his typically unyielding face and said sternly, “Thou shalt not covet, Sam.”

Dean was so confused. Again. Covet what? They were on a fucking mountain for crying out loud… there was nothing around _to_ covet. He took in the pale look of terror on Sam’s face and he felt the pieces starting to fall into place for the second time in the past few minutes. _Jesus, fuck._

“Sam is suffering the same fate as Jehoram of Judah. ‘And thou shalt have great sickness by disease of thy bowels, until thy bowels fall out by reason of the sickness, day by day,’” Castiel quoted.

Dean couldn’t look away from his brother’s pleading eyes. _Please don’t hate me._

“Why is Sam shitting himself to death like some asshat from the Bible?” Dean ground out between clenched teeth even though he knew the answer. Well, at least the only part of it that really mattered.

“Jehoram coveted the throne and killed his brothers to get it. He reigned eight years.”

“And?”

“Sam covets as Jehoram did and he killed his brother. Eight years ago. When you sold your soul and were dragged into hell so that he might live,” Castiel finished.

Dean finally looked away from his brother and turned to Cas. “Take me to the tablets,” he demanded.

“I cannot locate them. They are hidden from me.”

Dean growled and closed the bathroom door on his stricken brother before going to dig through Sam’s bag for the map Daryl had given them. “Take me to the tablets. Now,” he said again as he shoved the map into Castiel’s hands. Seconds later Castiel reached for him and they blinked out of the room. 

***

Dean clenched his teeth and bit back a caustic remark as Castiel fussed about the tablets, examining them with something like awe. As much as he hated to admit it, the angel wasn’t the source of his anger. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if anger was the right word.

Sam wanted him. What the fuck was he even supposed to do with that? How long had he been hiding this from him? What did he expect Dean to do?

“It isn’t a sin,” Castiel said, interrupting his internal freak-out.

“What?”

“It isn’t a sin. Incest. You were raised believing it is because that is what your society currently holds to be true. Sam is guilty of coveting. He knows you don’t feel for him the way he does for you, but he wants all the same.”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“He would never act on it. You matter to him more than that.”

“Cas,” Dean growled warningly. “Just get these out of here and beam us back to civilization.”

Cas stared at him for a while longer with concerned, unblinking eyes. Dean wondered if he was trying to read his soul and tried to shrug off the unnerving thought. If he couldn’t figure out what he was feeling, there was no way Cas should be allowed to know. He turned away from the angel and went to look out over the miles of wilderness stretching out below them. 

When he turned back he was alone on the mountain, with nothing but his jumbled thoughts to keep him company. He wandered back to where they had set up the tent the night before and thought about Sam’s eyes on him while he took care of his chafed skin. The way Sam had bolted into the trees. God, he was gonna be sick.

Dean flinched when the angel reappeared at his side, yanked from his anxious reverie. His friend stared at him for a moment and Dean looked anywhere else. Eventually Cas mumbled something about healing Sam and touched his fingers to Dean’s forehead.

_Fucking perfect_ , Dean thought when he found himself back in their crappy motel room. It was even shittier than when they had left, thanks to Sam’s wicked case of IBS. Dean gave a half-hearted mental chuckle at his pun before his thoughts stuttered to a stop once again. He had no idea what he was going to say to Sam.

Cas had been off dealing with the tablets for a while and he hadn’t managed to come up with a single thing the entire time he sat up on the ridge by himself. He couldn’t seem to get past _Sam_ and _no_ and _he’ll leave_. Fuck, he didn’t want to be alone. Maybe he could just…

_No_.

The simultaneous sounds of Sam letting one rip and squawking in surprise from the bathroom pulled him away from _that_ mental train wreck and he laughed out loud when he realized that Cas must have (quite literally) scared the shit out of his brother. The laugh died strangled in his throat before it had been fully realized. _Fuck_. _My brother_. _Fuck my brother._

He tried sitting on his bed before moving to the rickety excuse for a chair. The chair failed to soothe his nerves any more than the bed had and he found himself pacing like a caged animal when Sam hesitantly opened the bathroom door. Dean was aware of his bulky shape standing in the open doorway, but he studiously ignored him. He couldn’t get past the crushing fear of Sam leaving him. He remembered all too vividly how badly it had torn him up when Sam left him the first time. If anything, it was going to be worst this time.

He stopped his pacing and turned to his brother, walls as high as ever. “So… how’s things?” Dean asked with a cocky smile and a tilt of his chin toward the bathroom.

“Better,” Sam replied sheepishly.

“Great. Let’s blow this popsicle stand. It smells like something died in here,” he said as shoved a stray shirt into his duffel and zipped it closed. He was out the door before Sam had even started to move.

If he ignored the problem long enough it might just go away. It hadn’t worked yet, but there was always a first time. Hell, maybe he would die (again) before they had to address this particular elephant. His untimely deaths always seemed to throw Sam off for a while, at least.

*** 

One full tank of gas and 236 miles later, Sam made his move. 

“Dean –“

His fingers tightened on the wheel and Dean briefly entertained the thought of driving them into a ditch. It might buy him a week or two, but he just couldn’t do that to Baby. He couldn’t simply ignore him and turn up the radio either – he may as well just go wave a red cape at Sam like he was a fucking matador for all the attention that would bring.

A few miles passed while Sam tried to figure out the most economical words to cut his heart out and Dean puzzled over the most efficient way to shut him the fuck up. When Sam finally opened his mouth again Dean cut him off with a sigh and the softly spoken truth.

“I – I just can’t, Sam.”

“I know, Dean,” his brother responded quietly. “I never asked you to.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic and is unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. So is the art.
> 
> Comments (both compliments and constructive criticism) are awesome!


End file.
